THERE are moments, just passing ones, but moments of real promise, at this time of the year when the hard, cobalt blue of the cold winter sky is softened by strands of viridian light, an energising, germinating light that promises that spring is coming on the next train; that the circle is indeed unbroken.

THERE’S a brilliant scene in Woody Allen’s 1980 movie Stardust Memories where he is sitting in a stationary train carriage, his companions doleful — harried refugees straight out of a Diane Arbus photoshoot.

WE FIRST catch a glimpse of the Seabank Bistro last summer — the sun is beaming down, we are driving by wishing we had a convertible; there are diners in summer clothes languishing by outdoor tables, dipping into the al fresco food and sipping on chilled white wine.

The time is coming up to 3pm, the day is Friday, and the following conversation occurs in Spa Seafoods between a member of staff and a mature woman who has obviously been to the restaurant a few times before.

IF Percy French’s venerable sparring partners Abdul Abulbul Amir and Ivan Skavinsky Skavar still get together for a Christmas jaw-wag, to talk about old, old times when men were men, “when that son of the desert, in battle aroused, could spit 20 men on his spear”, it’s hard to think that those noble cuirassiers would go anywhere other than a proper, belt-stretching steakhouse.

ANY business that manages to keep its head above water for 15 years must have something good going for it, and so it proves with Havana Tapas Bar, a cosy place bang in the centre of Dublin’s Restaurant Row.